


Rät

by nagitosguts



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Prison, Spoilers, The Disc War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29872677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagitosguts/pseuds/nagitosguts
Summary: Dream’s had him wrapped around his finger without ever even touching him.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	Rät

**Author's Note:**

> gay little rambling i thought of lmao idk  
> probably doesn’t fit all correctly in the storyline and stuff but i tried my best enjoy shawtys

“Do you ever get hot in here?” 

It’s a stupid question. An ice-breaker, at most. Not really a joke, either. 

But it makes him laugh nonetheless.

“No,” He says, chuckling a bit. “I don’t, actually. Isn’t that funny?” 

George doesn’t laugh back. 

“Aw, come on. Don’t get like that now. You were doing so well.”  
He says it with a sarcastic pout, head tilted as if he was genuinely sad. 

Dream gestures towards him, chains jingling around his wrists.  
“Where’s the George I used to know?” 

George scowls, goggles tipped up on top of his head.  
“I should be asking the same thing to you.” 

His eyebrows furrow. 

“You’re the one in prison.” 

Dream cocks his head as if this is news to him.  
“Now that’s just jumping to conclusions,” He starts.

“Plenty of good, innocent people get thrown into prison for things they didn’t do.” 

George scowls again. His face is starting to hurt a bit. 

“You murdered Tommy.”  
His voice is cold. 

Dream is quiet for a moment. 

“You would’ve done the same thing,” He finally says. 

Deadpan. Emotionless. Heartless. Without an ounce of regret. 

It’s easy for George to deny it. It’s easy for anyone to deny it, especially when they’ve never been in the situation. 

That’s why he just can’t bring himself to actually say _no, I would never_.

“What happened to you?” He says instead, words shaking with emotion. He can’t let himself get choked up now, but it’s so hard when everything they had done together previously is rushing back into his mind. 

He’s trying to change the subject. He didn’t arrange this visit to turn into a emotional wreck.  
He came here to get information. 

As much as he wants to believe Dream, as much as he wants to break down the bars separating them and yank him closer than they’ve been in months, as much as he wants to just run away together and start anew-

It would be a suicide mission. 

Dream only has one life left. 

“What happened to me,” Dream repeats, not so much as a question, but a statement. 

He shrugs, the side of his face exposed by his broken mask twitching with the possible start of a smile. 

“I don’t think anything happened to me,” He says quietly. The only other sounds in the room are the bubbling of lava and George’s increasingly heavy breathing. 

It’s hot as hell in here. 

“But you already know that, don’t you George?” 

No answer. 

Dream shuffles a bit, sitting up straighter. 

He finally smiles. 

“You know why I did it, don’t you? You believe me, too.” 

Hands seal themselves around the bars holding him in, and even though they’re red with heat and burn into his palms, he grips them even tighter, chains jangling around his wrists. 

“Look at me, George,” He spits. 

George does. He sees the remains of a man he loved-no, still loves. A man torn to pieces by betrayal and heartbreak and power. 

A man unhinged, scars painting his face and body, clothed in prison orange with bruises new and old littering his wrists where the shackles were tightened just a little too much.  
Blonde hair tacky and unkept, held back in a ponytail. 

Blonde hair George used to run his fingers through at night when he couldn’t sleep. 

He stares at the scarred hands gripping the bars in front of him.  
Hands he used to hold when he was overwhelmed. Hands that would tuck hair behind his ear, that would hold him close and push and pull and keep him sane and gone all at the same time. 

He can’t _stop_ looking at Dream, at the singular green eye that is exposed from his mask, that stares him down with the exact same intensity as it did the first night they slept together and George never questioned his own safety ever again. 

This can’t be the face of a killer. 

“Stop,” George warbles, tears spilling down his cheeks. 

“Stop it.” 

Dream hasn’t done anything but stare.

“You know I don’t want to do this,” George pleads, as if he has to state his case, as if he’s the guilty one. 

“I want to believe you.” 

His fists clench at his sides, glasses still tucked up onto the top of his head so that Dream could see his raw emotions.  
So that he could see just what he does to him. 

The heels of his palms dig into his eyes, frustration taking over with the thought of becoming so vulnerable in this moment. 

“I still...love you,” George says, his voice cracking off into a whisper near the end. He’s angry. Angry and confused and upset and longing to hold Dream close to him one more time. 

Dream shows no emotion in this moment, in fact, his face has fallen into that monotone expression-the same one he wore when they walked him into this place from the courthouse, hands shoved behind his back and mind swimming with his sentencing. 

“I know,” He deadpans. 

George is too caught up to hear it. His ears ring. It’s so hot in here. The lava is parted so that they can speak, but the rest of the curtain exudes wave after wave of blinding heat that debilitates any sort of thought George might have. 

He falls to his knees. 

“Get me out of here, George,” Dream hisses. He leans down to George’s level, cheek pressed against the cool floor. They look dumb like this, admittedly, but this is important.  
This is his ticket out of here. And he’s running out of time. 

With only one life left, he’s become desperate. 

“You have to get me out. Do you understand?”

George’s vision swims, his mind jumping in and out of consciousness.  
But he nods. He understands. This will be the only thing he remembers when he wakes up in his own house, the others worried sick about him.  
They’ll berate him and scold him for staying too long, then turn on whoever was on guard duty for not taking him out sooner. 

And then they’ll laugh it off and never speak of it again. 

It’s so warm. Warmer than Dream’s hands after a fight, warmer than their bed after a long night, warmer than the blood that ran down Dream’s face when they seized him amidst the fire, cackling like he’d actually won. 

George blinks once, twice, and the third time, as his eyelids close, he sees Dream’s face again, staring into his. 

He smiles. Dream smiles back. And his parting words are so sickly sweet they’ll stick in the back of George’s mind forever, constantly reminding him of how far gone he really is. 

“I love you, George.”

**Author's Note:**

> btw i also drew fanart kinda based off of this fic if u wanna go see 
> 
> @neonkomaeda on insta :>


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